Blood flowed through the double fullers along the flat of Marcellus’ blade, pooling into the guard of his spatha’s hilt. A pile of corpses lies between him and the city’s walls. He and his men had successfully made their way down the ramparts. Yet, despite the progress that his army had made, the city’s defenders still stood, as the traitors courageously fought with the entirety of their resolve in the name of a usurper.

If these men weren’t traitors, Marcellus might have some respect for them, and yet they were, in fact, nothing more than a treasonous lot. Thus, he acted without mercy as he slashed the edge of his blade towards his opponent’s neck. The blade cut through the flesh and bone and severed the man’s head from his neck, spilling more blood across the field of battle.

After doing so, he instantly raised his shield to deflect the oncoming weapon of an enemy Foederati. While the spear embedded itself within the wooden scutum, Marcellus swung his sword down onto its shaft, breaking it apart with the heft of his blade. If not for the stress placed upon the shaft of the spear from being stuck within his shield, Marcellus doubted he would have been able to pull off such a feat.

Upon seeing that his primary weapon had been broken, the barbarian warrior quickly unleashed his spatha, which contained a hilt in the style used by the Germanic tribes. The two men swung their swords simultaneously as they clashed in the air, sending both men onto the backstep.

While the Roman General and the Barbarian warrior were embattled in a deadly dance, the soldiers around them clashed against one another, creating a concert of carnage. With each second, another man’s blood spilled onto the floor, and a life was taken.

As this bloodshed occurred, Marcellus was quick to attack, as he slashed forward with his spatha in a feigned attempt to cut the man’s chest; just when the man went to block such an attack with his shield, the young General transitioned to a thrust, which found its way into the man’s neck, and out the other side.

The look of shock in the barbarian’s eyes as his soul faded was utterly insignificant in the mind of Marcellus. He did not care in the slightest, for the man was not only a barbarian but an oath breaker, who had taken up arms in defense of the usurper Constantine III.

With this in mind, Marcellus ruthlessly cut away at the men before him, like a sickle to a field of wheat. A lifetime of militant training had prepared him not only for the battlefield but for a position of command as well, turning him into a merciless butcher who cut apart the flesh of those who fought against him.

As he was fighting with yet another opponent, the cries of the loyalist foederati resounded throughout the air as they charged forward into the center of the city, killing any man in sight while suffering from a state of pure, concentrated rage. The Romans and their allies had finally regrouped in the center of the city._.

Marcellus smirked as he gazed upon the frightened defenders. The Romans advanced forth against the traitors with heightened ferocity. Steel clashed with steel, bodies were torn asunder, and the angel of death descended upon the field of battle to claim the souls of those brave warriors who had perished.

Despite the combined assault from the Romans and their Foederati, the conflict soon became a stalemate. Both sides failed to push each other back even an inch. Eventually, a distance of fifteen feet was established; Marcellus stood at the front of his forces, with Sarus and Lucan by his side. As for the enemy army, they were represented by the villainous Nebiogastes and his allied legionary commanders.

Both sides were marred with blood and exhausted beyond measure, thus when Nebiogastes strode forth into the center with a white flag in his hand, Marcellus took the opportunity for his soldiers to rest. However, he personally had no desire to converse with a barbarian and a traitor.

Instead, Marcellus left that task to a man of equal standing with Nebiogastes. The young Roman General walked over to his Foederati Commander and whispered something into his ears. A look of shock appeared on the barbarian’s face, followed by a wicked grin.

After the message was delivered, Sarus sheathed his blade and strode forth to meet Nebiogastes in the center, between their two armies. When he finally arrived, Nebiogastes was shocked to see that the Romans had chosen a Foederati commander to represent them in this brief parlay. Thus, he spoke in his native tongue as he tried to ascertain who this barbarian was and where he came from.

“Tell me, brother, which tribe do you hail from?”

Sarus scoffed as he heard this before speaking in the Frankish Tongue.

“I am a mighty Goth! Something a Frank like yourself should fear!”

Immediately Nebiogastes frowned when he heard this. Out of all the other tribes, this man had to be a filthy Goth from the east. However, if it meant driving these Romans out of Gaul, he was more than happy to work beside the Gothic Chieftain. With this in mind, Nebiogastes reached his hand out in friendship as he proposed a conspiracy.

“A proud Goth, and yet you kneel before the boot of a Roman. Tell me, what do they offer you to fight so fiercely for them?”

Sarus chuckled when he heard this before commenting on his own.

“I was about to ask you the same question. You fight for a usurper in Gaul, while there are other tribes such as the Vandals and Suebi who seek to claim this land for themselves, surely Constantine must have offered you something substantial to do so?”

Despite being asked this question, Nebiogastes deflected by making an interesting proposition to the Gothic Chieftain

“Truly, you don’t enjoy fighting and dying for this Roman scum, do you? How about you join us! Together we can drive that man and his legions from these lands; then we can overthrow Constantine and become the rulers of Gaul!”

Sarus had to admit it was an enticing offer, and he thoroughly despised Marcellus. Luckily for him, the Roman did not speak the Frankish tongue and thus could not understand what they were talking about. A wicked smile formed on the Gothic chieftain’s face as he considered the option before slowly nodding his head.

“Very well, I accept your offer!”

Lucan gazed upon the negotiations with an overwhelming sense of dread. As the conversation between the Sarus and Nebiogastes became more cordial, he could no longer bite his tongue.

“I don’t like the look of this! Sir, what are your orders? We can’t allow these two barbarians to align against us!”

Despite the anxiety that his soldiers were suffering from, Marcellus had a calm expression and a cruel smirk upon his lips as he issued forth a decree unto his army.

“Stay your hand! We will see these negotiations through to the end!”

The Romans beneath Marcellus’ command stared at him in disbelief as Sarus and Nebiogastes shook hands. The Roman legionaries felt their hilts rattle within their trembling fingers while they waited for their Foederati allies to turn on them. However, right when Nebiogastes turned around to give the order to attack, Sarus pulled out his blade and drove it through the Frankish Chieftain’s back.

The cold steel pierced its way through the barbarian’s heart as he stared at the protruding edge in disbelief. The moment Nebiogastes’ body dropped to the floor, Sarus yelled at the Frankish warriors in a fearsome tone.

“Turn on your traitorous masters or suffer the same fate as your commander! The decision is in your hands to make!”

It did not take the Franks long to come to a proper course of action; they quickly attacked the traitor legions of Rome, instantly turning the tides of battle. As the Franks began to slay their former allies, Marcellus screamed his orders to all the men beneath his command.

“Kill the traitors. Spare no man who swears allegiance to the usurper!

With that said, the traitor legions gazed in horror as their allies turned against them, struggling to resist the attacks unleashed upon them. However, they were far too outnumbered to fight their enemies; one by one, they fell to the blade and the spear alike as their lives were snuffed from existence.

In the end, the city had returned to the hands of their Roman masters, and Marcellus had lived up to his words. Not a single soul who had sworn their allegiance to the usurper was spared on this night. Blood flowed through the streets, and bodies lay piled into small hills. Nebiogastes was dead, having been deceived and betrayed by Sarus during the negotiations.

While the Roman soldiers and their Foederati allies ransacked the city for its worth, Sarus stood by Marcellus’ side as the two men watched the ongoing plunder. The young Roman General could not help but ask the question on his mind

“Was there ever a point during the negotiations where you genuinely considered the offer that he made you?”

Sarus gazed upon Marcellus in astonishment as he heard this question; he knew much about his commanding officer and was confident that he did not speak Frankish. As such, he could not help but inquire about it as an awkward atmosphere filled the air.

“How did you know? As far as I am aware, you do not speak the Frankish Tongue?”

Marcellus chuckled softly before revealing his hand. The more he spoke, the less friendly his tone became.

“I don’t, but I figured Nebiogastes would make a play to turn you against me. So, allow me to reiterate, was there ever a point during the negotiations where you genuinely considered the offer that he made you?”

Upon hearing the chilling tone beneath Marcellus’ words, Sarus gulped the saliva that had pooled itself upon his tongue before answering the question

“Honestly? His offer was fairly enticing; to finally be rid of you would be a blessing for my people….

Marcellus knew that was not the end of the man’s statement. Thus, a sadistic grin formed itself upon his lips as he asked for clarification.

“But?”

After hearing that Marcellus was one step ahead of him, Sarus chuckled before revealing his thoughts.

“But… I am sure you would find some way to survive, you always do… No, If I were to truly turn on you, I am certain that I would be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life in fear that I would become yet another Goth put down by your blade.”

Marcellus broke out into laughter as he heard this response, and Sarus joined him. After a few moments, the two men finally silenced themselves, where Marcellus began to depart. After a few steps, he halted his movement before looking back and gazing upon Sarus with a terrifying smile.

“You would do best to remember that fact….”

After saying this, Marcellus continued forward, leaving Sarus in a state of petrification as he thanked the gods that he was wise enough not to betray the Roman General, thus concluding the siege of Valence.